She hurried back through the rain. From the window, I watched her reach an old rusted Mustang under the streetlamp. The engine would not start. Then she lowered her forehead to the wheel, and when her shoulders began to shake, I knew this was not just a bad night.
It was a hard life.
I grabbed my keys, but before I reached her, the engine finally caught. She wiped her face, backed out too quickly, and disappeared into the rain.
I stood there with cold food in my hand and twenty years of memories in my chest.
